


Tumblr Ficlets

by redeyedwrath



Series: Sterek Tumblr Ficlets [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A little bit of everything, Angst, Bottom Derek Hale, Fluff, M/M, Mostly fluff though, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of Sterek ficlets/prompts from my Tumblr. It contains a variety of stuff, but mostly nerd!Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pizza delivery guy!Derek

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo friend! Thanks for giving this a chance ^^ These'll be pretty random and updates'll be sporadic, but I hope you'll enjoy all of these little snippets!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this](http://blamethewolf.tumblr.com/post/145099307399/guys) Tumblr post.
> 
> Or, in which Derek is a pizza delivery guy and Stiles is his client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff

Stiles is tired, okay? He’s just tired. At least, that’s the excuse he gives himself for doing nothing but lying on the couch all day long. He’s allowed to, alright? He’s been studying for and making exams for at least the past four months so he’s allowed to lounge around in sweatpants and be disgusting for at least a day.

He’s halfway through a re-watch of the fifth – and admittedly, the best – season of Supernatural when his stomach starts rumbling in protest. To be fair, he’s been eating nothing but Reese’s the entire day and while they are fucking delicious, they’re not that nutritious and he needs some real food in his stomach.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he realizes he doesn’t have anything in the fridge. Scott ate the last of the leftover take-out a few days ago and he can’t even bother Scott to go to the supermarket because he’s visiting Allison and Stiles honestly does not want to call Scott when he’s there. Let’s just say he learned that the hard way.

He eyes the coffee table, trying to see if they still have that flyer for that one pizza delivery service – Domino’s or something. It was probably Domino’s. He scrambles through stacks of papers and three empty glasses that he probably should’ve cleaned up a week ago but he was too busy with studying with the Criminology Exam and Scott was – just Scott, he guesses.

He resists the urge to pump his fist in the air when he finds the flyer. It has an ugly red color and it’s slightly sticky and Stiles doesn’t want to know where it’s been, because flyers are suspicious enough without being sticky. His gaze immediately falls on the huge, Comic Sans – seriously, who even does that – letters at the bottom, detailing both a website and a phone number.

He pauses for a bit, trying to decide whether he should call or just order online, before he realizes he’d like to keep the human contact today to a minimum so he should probably just order online. He skims down the flyer in search of a list of pizzas and his stomach rumbles again when he reads them.

This better be one damn good pizza.

-

He’s already at the door when the bell rings. He’s not saying he’s been standing next to the door for five minutes, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his pizza, but he kind of has. He opens the door, ready to just grab the pizza and take it inside, because he’s so hungry he could probably eat a cow by now, when –  

Holy god, did he call the right company? Did he not accidentally call a modeling agency? Because this guy is just – wow. Stiles can feel himself start to blush as the guy gives Stiles a slow – and probably disapproving, judging by the look on his face – once-over. And since the Hot Delivery Guy did it, Stiles figures he can take a look himself, and shit, would Stiles like to feel those hands on him. They’re broad, with big fingers and hair dusted over the back and Stiles would give anything – Right, pizza. No thinking about sex. The guy’s here to do his job.

“A Pizza Tonno for-“ the Hot Delivery Guy pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he reads the receipt. And again. And again. Stiles feels the blood rush to his cheeks and not for the first time he curses his Dad for allowing his mom to give him such a horrible name.

“Just call me Stiles.” He doesn’t even mean to say it, and he bites his lip when the guy looks up at him - well, more like glares up at him – to keep himself from saying things like “you sure I’m not in a porno right now” because the guy’s cheekbones are just – so unfair. Maybe he’s fallen asleep during Supernatural and dreamt up his own Dean Winchester.

“Right,” the Hot Delivery Guy grumbles and he pushes the box into Stiles’ hands. “Please fill in the questionnaire. It’ll be sent to your email.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says and he desperately hopes the blotches of red on his cheeks are unnoticeable. “Have a good evening.”

The guy frowns before turning around and walking away, and Stiles takes this golden opportunity to just ogle the guy’s ass. It’s just as perfect as the rest of him and damn, this guy is seriously giving him an inferiority complex.

The guy suddenly turns around, like he felt Stiles’ gaze on his ass and Stiles slams the door shut and prays to anyone out there that Hot Delivery Guy did not see Stiles checking him out.

This might’ve just been the most awkward thing he’s ever done.

-

The questionnaire is a standard thing, really, and normally he wouldn’t bother with it, but the Hot Delivery Guy – whose name is Derek, according to the questionnaire – is, well, hot. And Stiles doesn’t have any means to contact him. Also, the guy doesn’t seem like the guy to go to seedy nightclubs for hook-ups and Stiles would definitely like to get up close and personal with that guy, judge-y eyebrows be damned.

He bites on his nail when he reaches the end, because there’s a comment box, asking if he has something to tell them. Stiles thinks back to Derek, to his cheekbones and eyebrows and _arms_  - oh my god the arms – and resolutely thinks that yes, he does have something to tell them.

He’s typed in “Derek was cute af and I’d like to take him out for coffee” and sent the questionnaire before he knows it, and suddenly his heart is pounding because Derek was glaring and he showed absolutely no sign of being interested in Stiles whatsoever and he’s probably going to show up at Stiles’ apartment and kill him.

 _‘scott, if i’m not here when you get back i have been murdered by the domino delivery guy’_ he types out and he bites his nail again – a nervous habit he’s never gotten rid of. Scott’s response is instantaneous and Stiles is kind of surprised he and Allison aren’t going at it like rabbits right now.

‘ _bro what did u do_ ’

‘ _i may have hit on him_ ’

‘ _srry dude. i promise you your funeral will have curly fries’_

Stiles snorts. He gets where Scott’s coming from, honestly. The guy’s seen him hit on more guys – and also girls – than he can count and he’s watched most of the attempts crash and burn pretty fast, mostly because Stiles is an uncoordinated nerd and he only goes for people who are way out of his league and almost always already have a partner.

_‘you have been a good friend scotty’_

He lies down on the couch, putting away his phone and eating another slice. Back to Supernatural it is then, if no one’s going to distract him from Derek and the evidence of another one of Stiles’ failures at life.

His phone pings when Castiel comes into the scene – which sucks because Castiel is fucking awesome and Stiles may or may not have a crush on Misha Collins – and he groans before grabbing a napkin to wipe the grease off his fingers. He might have a lazy day today, but technology should always be treated with respect, especially when there’s a possibility he’ll get murdered by a Domino’s delivery guy. He can already see the tombstone.

He frowns when he sees it’s an unknown number, because he’d been expecting Scott to wax poetic about another one of Allison’s assets, which is what 75% of his text convo’s with Scott are actually about. He opens the message, heart pounding and a lump in his throat, because he gave Domino’s his number and _shit._

_‘Hey this is Derek from Domino’s. My manager showed me your comment and I was wondering if the offer for coffee is still open?’_

Stiles stops, heart pounding in his ears and reads it again. And again. And he thinks back to Derek’s light eyes and soft hair and glare and fucking _Disney Prince_ _voice_ and he swallows, because that guy actually wants to go out with him? Stiles Stilinski, who’s wearing sweatpants right now and hasn’t showered in two days?

 _‘shit dude yes’_ he types out, his fingers shaking with nerves, but he deletes it before he can send it because he doesn’t want to sound too eager and make Derek regret his decision. Which he probably will anyways, because Derek is fucking _miles_ out of Stiles’ league and Stiles is a spazz, but like hell he’s missing this opportunity to go out with someone who looks like he could model underwear for a living.

_‘of course! when are you free?’_

That’s marginally better, he thinks, and he almost throws up when Derek messages him back. The ping of his phone startles him and he flails, catching it just before it hits the floor. If it broke now he’d have no means to contact Derek and he’s not going to call Domino’s for Derek’s contact information because that – that is just creepy.

‘ _Is tomorrow at 8am a good time for you?’_

_‘yeah, see you then!’_

He does pump his fist in the air this time, unable to keep the grin off his face because he just scored himself a date with the human equivalent of Dean Winchester and his entire view of the world has upended right now.

He opens his conversation with Scott and types out with steady fingers, _‘hold off on those curly fries’_


	2. Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** A fluffy soulmate drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff

He never thought he’d have a soulmate. He hasn’t really seen those marks, other than in the crappy romantic movies Lydia forces him to watch when Jackson’s being a dick, or in the fanfiction he used to read - which had been a terribly hard habit to shake. He can’t help but smile whenever he looks at his wrist, at the little black letters. He doesn’t know if that makes him lonely and desperate, or really fucking cheesy, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when people have told him _multiple_ times they’re worried about him because he’s smiling so much.

“I’m serious, man!” Scott shouts, waving his hands around. “You’re freaking me out, what’s going _on_ with you?!”

Stiles just grins, taking another sip of his coffee, and averting his gaze to the line of grumpy, caffeine-less people.

“Wait,” Scott drawls, scrunching his nose as he puts on his ‘McCall Thinking Face’. Stiles doesn’t want to know if what he’s thinking is bad or good. “Dude, did you finally get laid? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Stiles promptly spits out his coffee, drenching his and Scott’s muffins with a mixture of caffeine and saliva. Scott makes a disgusted face, and prods carefully at his muffin before deeming it inedible. It serves him right, Stiles thinks, because no one - absolutely _no one_ \- should look that _joyous_ at the thought of their best friend having sex. “Unfortunately, no.”

He can feel his face burn as everyone stares at him, probably having heard their conversation. A woman is covering a girl’s ears and glaring at him and, honestly, Stiles would like to sink through the floor right now, because he thinks Scott just traumatized a five year old. Scott, the asshole, just sits there all smug, like he didn’t almost just give Stiles a heart attack.

“Well, excuse me for thinking you finally lost your precious virginity, because you are fucking _glowing,_ man.”

Stiles takes a careful sip of his coffee, blowing on it a little to make sure it isn’t too hot, before glaring at Scott. “Yes, Scott, thank you for reiterating that I am, in fact, a virgin.”

Being twenty-two and still a virgin isn’t really the biggest accomplishment in Stiles’ life. It’s not like he needs physical evidence that the general public doesn’t like him, the weird stares that get thrown his way when he forgets to take his Adderall are enough of a reminder, thanks. Scott - being Scott and therefore oblivious to everything around him - is only staring at him with a confused frown on his face.

“So why are you so ridiculously happy, dude?”

Stiles can’t help the - probably slightly manic - grin that takes over his face at being taken back to his original point. He swallows down the rest of his coffee, like liquid courage but different, before he pulls up the sleeve of his sweater, revealing the neat black script on his arm. Scott’s eyes widen in recognition before he grabs Stiles’ sweater, nearly pulling him over the table.

“Scotty,” Stiles chokes out, uselessly pawing at Scott’s arm. “Kinda need oxygen - breathing.”

Scott releases him, cheeks flushing when he realizes that he was cutting off Stiles’ air supply, and grabs his arm instead. He brushes over the skin with a reverent look on his face, like he never expected to see a soulmate mark in his life, and he probably hasn’t. The odds of someone having a mark is approximately one in 105 million, Stiles had looked it up last night.

“Derek Hale?” Scott asks him and Stiles nods, his heart beating faster at the mention of his soulmate’s name. He wonders what Derek’s like, if he’s upbeat or grumpy, if he has a comic book collection or not. The guy thing honestly doesn’t freak him out, Stiles has always been fluid where sexuality was concerned.

“Yeah dude, I have no fucking idea who he is.” But by God, does he want to know. What if Derek is a homophobic asshole? Stiles wouldn’t put it past himself. Getting bonded to a dickhead just feels like the next natural step in the failure that is Stiles’ life.

“Can’t you look him up on Facebook?” Scott asks, head tilted to the side, and why didn’t Stiles think of that before? He frantically grabs for his phone - bumping his elbow against the edge of the table and fuck, there goes his funny bone - and thumbs open the Facebook app, typing ‘Derek Hale’ into the search bar. His stomach is flipping, and he taps a rhythm against the table with his free hand, trying to distract himself from the sudden onslaught of nerves.

“Scott,” Stiles somehow manages to say when Derek’s profile pops up, because _holy god_. “Scott, please pinch me, I think this might be a dream.”

Scott slides into Stiles’ side of the booth, pinching Stiles on the arm in the process, and Stiles hisses and slaps his hand because _ow._ Scott takes advantage of his distractedness by grabbing Stiles’ phone, and fully opening Derek’s profile.

“Dude.” Scott gapes as he scrolls through Derek’s page. “You know I’m not into dudes, but this guy is fucking hot.”

Stiles scoffs indignantly,and grabs his phone back. His heart stops when he sees the post Scott stopped on - did it just get hotter or is it just him? - because this guy is just. Everything about him is unfair. He’s laughing, green eyes crinkled, and his mouth is open, showing bunny teeth, and oh my god, are those dimples he sees beneath the scruff? Stiles thinks he might be in love already.

“You should send him a message.”

It snaps Stiles out of his Derek-induced haze and he glares at Scott, heart suddenly pounding, because there’s no way this Abercrombie model slash Care Bear is his soulmate. Stiles’ life doesn’t go that way, he’s twenty-two year old virgin for Christ’s sake, there is no way this guy would ever be interested in him.

“What if he’s not my Derek though,” he murmurs, voice small. He honestly hadn’t really intended to say it out loud, and he probably didn’t even need to. Scott knows him well enough to know what Stiles is thinking.

“Only one way to find out.” Scott grins at him, a slightly evil tick to it.

God, Stiles hates it when Scott is right.

-

It’s 9pm when Stiles finally receives a response from Derek. He’s lying on the couch, wearing sweatpants and watching a shitty action movie, trying to distract himself from the anxiety that’s been shooting through him ever since he’s sent Derek a message earlier that day. Scott had been hovering over his shoulder just to make sure he actually did send it, because Scott knows him a little too well sometimes.

He almost falls off the couch when his phone buzzes, flailing as he reaches for it. His fingers fumble as he types in his password and _shit_. Oh holy god, that’s a message from Derek Hale, may he rest in peace.

‘ _Are you family of Stanislav Stilinski?_ ’

Stiles feels his cheeks flush already. God, why did his parents saddle him with that monstrosity of a name.

‘ _uh, i am stanislav stilinski? but call me stiles please_ ’

Derek’s quiet for a few minutes, and Stiles can’t stop biting his lip. Did he say something wrong? Did he scare Derek off already? Please tell him he isn’t too awkward already, dear god. He has literally no game whatsoever.

‘ _Right. Stiles._ ’

Stiles swallows, heart pounding. What do you even say to that?

‘ _yeah. so uh, wanna meet up some time?_ ’

‘ _Name a time and place_.’

-

He’s at the same coffee shop he was at with Scott a few days ago, sipping his latte as he tries to pretend he’s not nervous. He’s been talking to Derek non-stop for the past few days, and he’s discovered that Derek is indeed a ‘secret’ comic book nerd, and he has two sisters, and he really likes licorice.

The bell rings when a new customer enters the coffee shop, and Stiles’ head shoots up, heart pounding away in his chest. He bites his lip when he sees it’s not Derek, but a some blonde girl, and he pretends he’s not disappointed. He honestly can’t wait to meet Derek. He can’t wait to see if he looks as attractive in real life as he does on Facebook. Stiles doesn’t think he’d survive that honestly.

“Hey,” a soft voice suddenly says from behind him and Stiles jumps a little before turning around and holy god. Call the police and the fucking firemen, Stiles is going to die. Derek is standing in front of him, glorious cheekbones and jawline and fucking _everything_. Stiles honestly thinks this might be heaven.

“Hey,” he chokes out when he realizes he’s been staring a little too long, and he can feel his face heat. He’s messing this up already. Derek just smiles and Stiles can feel something in his chest warm because he did that! He made Derek smile.

Derek sits down opposite of him, styrofoam cup in his hand, and Stiles watches, mesmerized, as Derek blows on it before taking a careful sip and _oh my god_. Are those thumbholes? Stiles is so gone, honestly, because this man is fucking cute.

“So uh,” he says after a while, when they’ve done nothing but sipping their coffee and staring at each other. “I’m Stiles?”

The corners of Derek’s mouth turn up again, just a slight, almost unnoticeable twitch, but it makes Stiles feel warm. He can feel his cheeks flush again. Fuck, he has no game. Zero. Zilch.

“Derek,” Derek says and, honestly, this guy can’t hold a conversation to save his life. Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes and bites his lip to keep himself from rambling. Instead, he starts tapping a rhythm on the table, and he watches Derek frown at his fingers. Fuck, rambling it is then.

“Look, I know we don’t really know each other or anything, but I think you’re really cute and I would really like for this to work out so I thought we could date each other maybe? I mean the universe clearly wants us to be together so we might as well-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, eyebrows drawn down and shit, Stiles is already fucking this up. Why is he like this, dear god. “I- I think you’re cute too. And I would like to date you.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turn pink at that and he won’t look Stiles in the eyes and this guy. Just - he’s just so cute.

“Oh.’’ He pauses, trying to let the words sink in. Derek thinks he’s cute. Derek wants to _date_ him. “Oh! Great. Fantastic.”

Stiles takes a sip of his now lukewarm coffee, trying to hide his flush behind it and probably failing miserably. When he looks up, Derek’s staring at him, the tips of his ears bright pink and Stiles has the sudden urge to lean over the table and just _kiss him_.

“So,” he says instead, clearing his throat. “How ‘bout them Mets?”

When he sees Derek perk up, Stiles knows everything is going to be just fine.


	3. Nerd!Derek (Locker Edition)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerd!Derek has a crush on Stiles, and of course Jackson has to go and ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff (and a heavy make-out session)

The thing is, Derek likes Stiles. A lot. He’s sure everyone knows by now, except for Scott and Stiles himself. It’s not that people pay a lot of attention to him, but he’s been stubbornly sitting behind Stiles and drawing the back of his head for at least two years now, and every time someone mentions Stiles’ name Derek starts to blush.

He’s not what you’d call subtle. 

No one cares, because Stiles might be on the Lacrosse team, but he’s only a benchwarmer, so the fact that he’s crushing on Stiles hasn’t caused him too much problems. The only problems he has are the inappropriate boners. Because seriously, Stiles rolling a condom down over a banana during Sex Ed was just  _ obscene. _

He’s sitting behind Stiles even know, and the class is chatting as they wait for Finstock. It’s not like he’s  _ consciously  _ paying attention to Stiles’ conversation with Scott, it’s more of a habit nowadays. 

“Aaaw, Scotty,” Stiles suddenly yells, patting Scott on the arm, and Derek remembers to look away in time. Not that he doesn’t want to see Stiles’ face, but he’d prefer it if Stiles didn’t find out about his hopeless crush. “You know everyone wants to fuck me!” 

Derek freezes, cheeks flushing as Erica turns around to stare at him. She winks before nodding ‘subtly’ to Stiles and Derek pushes his glasses up his nose in an attempt to distract himself, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. 

Stiles’ face is red too, like he realizes he’d yelled that through the class, and Jackson snickers from the back, “Oh please, Stilinski, no one wants to fuck your miserable ass.” 

Derek turns around to glare at Jackson before he knows what he’s doing, because Stiles is  _ cute _ , damn it, and even if Derek won’t ever be his boyfriend, he knows Stiles will find someone else one day. 

Jackson, the douchebag, notices it immediately, and his grin turns slightly predatory before adding, softer this time, “No one but Derek, of course.” 

Derek can feel his heart start pounding and he grows beet red. Erica stands up next to him, walking over to Jackson and whispering something viciously in his ear, but Derek looks away. He folds his hands on his lap, praying that Stiles hadn’t heard Jackson. 

He chances a glance at Stiles, but Stiles is already staring at him, mouth open and eyes wide, and Derek has to bite back a groan, because  _ that mouth.  _ It’s always open, like Stiles wants someone to shove something in it, and Derek wants to kiss him so  _ bad _ . He licks his lips unconsciously, and he watches as Stiles tracks the movement with his eyes. 

Derek swallows, and then he’s staring wide-eyed too, because  _ no way _ . He watches as Stiles’ eyes flicker down over his body, before coming back to Derek’s lips and  _ fuck _ . Stiles is staring at his lips, cheeks red and pupils dilated. 

“Stilinski!” Finstock shouts suddenly and both Derek and Stiles jump. He doesn’t know when Finstock entered the room but he would give  _ anything _ for him to go back to wherever he came from, because Stiles had been staring at Derek, like Stiles  _ wants _ him. The thought makes Derek flush hot and he shifts in his seat. 

Erica winks again and Derek scowls at her, but the effect is probably lost because of his red face. 

God, he hates Jackson. 

-

He runs out of there as soon as the bell rings. He wipes his sweaty palms on his khaki’s, pushing his glasses up his nose as he sprints over to his locker, heart pounding in his chest. Stiles had been glancing behind him for the entire class, looking at Derek like he didn’t believe what he was seeing, and Derek wants to  _ disappear _ . 

He grabs his Physics book, before slamming his locker shut, wanting to get away as fast as possible because Stiles’ locker is across from his and Derek is  _ fucked.  _ Suddenly, he’s slammed up against his locker, metal digging uncomfortably into his back. Stiles is pressing up against him and he’s forcing Derek onto his tiptoes, pushing a thigh in between Derek’s legs and  _ shit,  _ that feels good.

“Is it true?” Stiles asks, his voice breathless and low, pupils wide. He places a hand on Derek’s shoulder, moving it up until his long fingers until they’re combing through Derek’s hair and Derek can’t help the little whining sound he makes. He’s thought about those fingers, thought about them in his hair, trailing down his chest, opening him up for Stiles’ cock. 

Derek nods, unable to form words and Stiles kisses him, flicking his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip before licking inside. Derek whimpers and he brings his hands up to Stiles’ shoulders, clinging close, never wanting to let him go. Stiles fingers are running through his hair, down his neck, trailing over his arms, and he swallows all the sounds Derek’s making. 

“Fuck,” Stiles groans as he pulls back, moving down to mouth at Derek’s neck, sucking a little on patches of skin and Derek can’t help but roll his hips against Stiles’ leg, the friction so _ good _ . “I thought about this, about you. Wanting me, making all these pretty sounds for me.” 

Stiles pulls back suddenly and Derek almost falls onto the ground. He leans against the lockers, head thrown back, trying to catch his breath. Shit, he can’t believe this is happening. When he looks at Stiles, Stiles is staring greedily at him and Derek smiles at him. 

“At least buy me dinner first.” 

Stiles laughs at that, his eyes shining and crinkling at the corners and something in Derek’s chest squeezes. He wants Stiles, any way he can have him. 

“That can be arranged, big guy,” Stiles says, patting Derek’s hair down for him. Derek blushes again and pushes his glasses back until they’re not crooked on his nose anymore. Stiles leans forward, pecking him on the lips, before grabbing Derek’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.” 

Derek smiles eagerly again, and he follows Stiles down the hallways.

Jackson might not even be  _ that _ bad.


	4. Baby- and puppysitting!Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Stiles walks in on Derek baby- and puppysitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff

There’s a silent agreement between the Pack. They don’t bother Derek on Wednesday night. No one knows why, exactly, but there have been a lot of speculations - most involving the words penis, masturbation and sex. Derek had told them once, just  _ once _ , that no one was to bother him on Wednesday nights and he had used his Alpha voice and honestly, everyone was too scared to find out what would happen if they didn’t agree. 

That being said, today’s a Wednesday and Stiles is going insane. It’s not even 8pm and he’s already bored out of his mind. Scott is with Allison - of course - Lydia’s doing some pedicure thing and Stiles really doesn’t want to find out with Boyd, Erica and Isaac were doing. Plus, there was no way in  _ hell _ that Stiles was going to talk to Jackson. 

He’d tried to distract himself with writing another entry in the bestiary, but pretty much everything he could’ve found out through research was already in there and he really wasn’t in the mood for another round of mindless Wikipedia clicking, and he’d already jerked off once, so yeah. Stiles was bored. 

The only member of the Pack that was available right now - or well, sort of - was Derek. If Stiles was honest with himself, he knows that going to Derek’s right now would be more because he’s curious - and totally not jealous, he doesn’t even  _ like _ Derek, okay - and less because he’s bored. The bored thing would give him the perfect excuse though. 

He’s sitting in his Jeep before he knows it, riding through town to get to Derek’s apartment. He’s honestly so glad Derek upgraded out of the dilapidated Hale house and most importantly, out of the abandoned train station, to an honest to God apartment. It was small, yes, but practically a dream compared to Derek’s previous ‘homes’.

Everyone in the Pack has a key, of course. Derek loves to reiterate how important it was for his home to become a Pack hangout, but if Stiles is honest, he always tunes out during those speeches. Especially the first one, right after Derek had pressed a key into Stiles’ hand. When he’d asked Derek why he’d given Stiles a key too, Derek had simply frowned and said, “You’re Pack,” and that had made Stiles feel a lot better than it probably should have. 

The apartment is dark when Stiles opens the door, and he’s convinced Derek’s not there for a second, until he hears talking coming from the living room. He softly shuffles forward, trying to be as sneaky as possible, because if Derek does have a secret girlfriend - or boyfriend, Stiles doesn’t judge - Stiles doesn’t want to intrude. 

He peeks around a corner, trying to get a look of what’s happening in the living room and for a second, Stiles’ heart stops, because  _ Derek _ . Derek is holding a puppy and putting it down in front of a toddler. A freaking baby, who’s squealing and putting their fist in their mouth while Derek watches with a soft smile on his face and just - what?

“What?” Stiles softly murmurs, walking fully into the living room and in an instant Derek has both the toddler and the puppy in his arms, standing on the other side of the room. 

“Stiles?” Derek growls, glaring. “Stiles, what are you doing here, I told you not to bother me.” 

Stiles nods absentmindedly, eyes focussed on the baby and the puppy because Derek. Derek is holding a baby and a puppy in his arms. Carefully, holding them against his chest and Stiles is pretty sure he’s brain dead, because Derek is holding a _ baby and a puppy _ . 

“You-” Stiles begins, but what are words? How is he supposed to talk? “What- I don’t- You’re holding a baby! And a puppy! What?!” 

Derek walks back to the couch and sets them down and woah. Stiles is 99% sure that’s a blush on Derek’s face. Derek Hale is blushing and he just held a baby and a puppy and Stiles’ brain is  _ fried _ . 

“That’s what I do every Wednesday,” Derek says softly, not taking his eyes off them, a soft smile on his face. “A neighbor asked me to and I just couldn’t say no.” 

Stiles tries to imagine it, some woman holding a puppy and a baby in Derek’s face and Derek instantly falling in love with them. He tries to imagine Derek cooing at the baby and blowing raspberries on the baby's tummy. Tries to imagine Derek play-wrestling with the puppy and he just  _ can't _ .

“Fuck,” he breathes, “that is so  _ cute _ .”

Derek’s head shoots up at that, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Even the tips of his ears are pink and Stiles wishes he could take it back but oh god this was not a good idea abort mission  _ abort mission _ . He’s about to turn around and just go before he says more stupid things, when he feels Derek’s hand on his arm. 

“You could-” Derek starts and his cheeks grow even redder, his gaze anywhere but on Stiles. “You could help me. If you want to.”

“Okay,” Stiles says eagerly, maybe too eager,  _ shit _ , so he repeats it, softer this time. “Okay.” 

Derek smiles at him, the same soft smile as when he was looking at the baby and Stiles’ heart skips a beat. He is  _ so fucked _ , honestly. He follows Derek over to the couch and they watch as the puppy jumps on top of the baby, licking the toddler’s face. When Stiles looks over at Derek, he sees Derek watching his hand, and before Stiles knows it, Derek has threaded their fingers together. Stiles is sure his face looks like a tomato. 

He squeezes Derek’s hand and smiles when Derek squeezes back. Some rules were made to be broken. 


	5. Stiles gets turned on by anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone reblogged [this](ladydrace.tumblr.com/post/146611619586/zygoats-dont-look-at-my-fucking-boner-when-we) Tumblr post.
> 
> Or, in which Derek and Stiles are fighting and Stiles suddenly has a boner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Smut

It’s not like Stiles means to get into trouble, okay. It just happens. A lot, as evident by the past two years or so, give or take. And really, he’d say it bothers him if it didn’t constantly give him an excuse to hang out with Derek. Because Derek, being the emotionally constipated asshole that he is, pretty much never comes by unprompted. 

Right now though, it’s definitely very unprompted. Derek’s eyebrows are drawn down and he’s glaring at Stiles, his frame shaking with barely-contained anger. 

“Stiles!” Derek yells. “You just have to stop doing this!” 

And that? That just makes him angry, because it’s not his fault the trouble finds him and Derek constantly blames him for it and Stiles isn’t the Alpha here but he’s definitely seeing fucking red. 

“I have to stop?” And once he’s started, there’s no stopping. “Me? Did you forget all the fucking times I saved your furry ass? The bestiary I put together for you? Remember the Alpha Pack? You selfish asshole, you act like I’ve done nothing for you and-”

Suddenly, his breath’s knocked out of him, back pressed against the wall and Derek against his front, eyes flickering red. He can feel a low growl coming from Derek, so subvocal he probably wouldn’t have noticed if they weren’t pressed together chest to chest. Derek’s arm is pressed against his collarbones, keeping him pinned against the wall and he’s warm and  smells nice and - well, Stiles is only human okay.

It’s no secret that he gets off on adrenaline. All the wolves probably know it, have smelled the low thrum of arousal from him on more than one occasion, but it’s never been like  _ this _ before. 

“Derek?” he asks tentatively, bringing his hands to Derek’s shoulders, to push him away or shake him out of it, maybe, when he realizes that Derek’s looking down. At his cock. 

“Dude!” he shouts, trying to shield himself from Derek’s view because - well, Derek’s already seen it, but no one likes it when someone stares at their dick for too long, especially if that someone had been previously shouting at you. “Just- just go.” 

When he looks up, Derek’s still looking down, staring at where Stiles’ hands are cupping himself and Stiles feels something hot shoot through him, like a punch to his gut. Derek’s eyes are fully glowing red now and Stiles thinks his ears are a little pointier than usual and  _ shit _ , Derek’s going to kill him. 

His cock twitches and Stiles sees Derek’s nostrils flare and he’s honestly so fucked. Derek suddenly leaps forward, pushing Stiles against the wall again and keeping him pinned. He’s looking at Stiles now, and shit. Shit, his pupils are dilated, cheeks flushed red and mouth slightly open. He looks fucking  _ edible _ . 

“Derek?” he prompts again, softer this time, and Derek’s gaze drops down to his lips. Then he leans forward slightly, panting like he’s drugged and his knee presses against Stiles and Stiles - Stiles can do nothing but moan, head dropping forward onto Derek’s shoulder. “ _ Shit _ .”

And then Derek’s teeth are scraping over the tendon on his neck, sucking slightly on the skin and grinding against Stiles’ cock in circles and Stiles can’t help the breathless sound that escapes his mouth. Derek growls in response and presses forward harder and  _ oh god _ , that feels so fucking good. He never wants Derek to stop doing that, wants to keep him here forever and Stiles tangles his fingers in Derek’s shirt, pressing Derek tighter against him.

“Mine,” Derek growls and then bites down on his neck and suddenly fire’s shooting up and down Stiles’ spine and he swears he blacks out for a second. They’re standing together, panting against Stiles’ door as Derek licks up and down the side of Stiles’ neck. He’s going to have so many hickeys. 

“So uh,” Stiles says after awhile, when he’s caught his breath again, carefully threading his fingers through Derek’s hair, “is this a one time thing? Or is this going to happen more often. ‘Cause I would definitely like it to happen more often.”

Derek purrs - honest to God  _ purrs _ \- and nuzzles his scruff against Stiles’ neck before pulling back. He looks ruined, lips red and eyes wide, hair all over the place and Stiles bites on his lip to stop a moan from escaping. 

“Definitely happening again,” Derek says, grabbing Stiles’ hips and licking into his mouth. Stiles sucks on his tongue and revels in the broken noise Derek makes in response. 

Yeah, this is definitely happening again. 


	6. Suit and Tie Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Derek and Stiles get invited to a black tie event, but they end up having sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Smut

Derek loves Stiles. He has for a long time. He loves the way Stiles talks, loves the way he makes Derek feel, loves the way he fucking  _ moves _ , but sometimes Stiles just does things that  _ bother  _ him. 

Like now, for example. They’re supposed to go to dinner with Stiles’ dad for his birthday in some fancy restaurant in - Derek looks down at his watch - twenty-six minutes, and Stiles hasn’t left the bathroom yet. Derek knows Stiles can get insecure, especially when it comes to the way he looks, but he’s been in there for almost fifteen minutes and it’s getting kind of ridiculous.

He huffs and pulls out his phone, tapping away at the screen as he talks to Erica - who’s complaining that Boyd’s taking too long - and he doesn’t even notice when the door opens, Stiles walking into the room. 

“Do I look okay?” Stiles asks him, a blush on his face as he shifts his weight. Derek hears his breath catch in his throat. Stiles is standing tall, hands spread out so Derek can see all of him. Stiles’ shoulders look impossibly broad, and blazer hugs his form perfectly, emphasizing the slight dip of his waist and the muscles on his arms. 

The thing that catches Derek’s attention the most though, is the way Stiles legs seem to go on  _ forever _ , the fabric pulled tight around his hips and crotch. He had no idea such a thing could be so attractive, but Derek can’t help the way his eyes rake up and down Stiles’ body repeatedly, stopping at his face where he’s flushed red  _ entirely _ .

“Is it- is it not good enough?” Stiles asks shyly when Derek does nothing but stare. He tries to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat but he - he  _ can’t. _

“God, no,” he manages to choke out. “It’s  _ very  _ good.” 

He stands up, hands in his pockets to take some of the pressure off his dick, and walks over to Stiles. Stiles shivers when he brushes his hands through Stiles’ hair, and Derek can’t bring himself to look away from the way the suit wraps around him, highlighting  _ everything _ about Stiles that’s attractive. 

“You look so sexy like this,” Derek whispers, mouth next to Stiles’ ear. He inches closer, his chest brushing against Stiles’ and he doesn’t miss the whimper that falls out of Stiles’ mouth. “So fucking sexy, goddamn,  _ Stiles. _ ” 

“Derek,” Stiles starts, leaning into Derek further and Derek brushes his hands down over Stiles’ arms and then over his chest, pushing the jacket off Stiles’ shoulders. 

“Stiles,” Derek says mockingly, before tugging Stiles’ earlobe between his teeth. Stiles whimpers again and melts into Derek, pushing his hands through Derek’s hair as Derek moves to Stiles’ neck. 

“You- we can’t do this now,” Stiles whines, trailing off as Derek bites down on a tendon, sucking a mark into his skin. Derek hums in agreement, but he makes no moves to stop. Instead, he trails his lips to the other side of Stiles’ neck, breathing in Stiles’ scent. 

“I want to rip that suit off you,” Derek growls. “Or you could keep it on and fuck me like that.” He hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but suddenly Stiles moans, his knees nearly buckling and Derek smirks. 

“Derek- Derek, it’s my Dad’s  _ birthday _ ,” Stiles pants, making no effort to move back as Derek wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him closer. 

“Let’s pretend it’s my birthday for now,” Derek answers, watching Stiles’ reaction, listening to the frantic beat of his heart in the quiet room, before running his teeth along Stiles’ jaw, leaving small wet kisses.

“Derek we  _ can’t _ . You’ll mess up the suit, and it- it will be too obvious and we’ll miss- oh god - we’ll miss the dinner,” Stiles distractedly stutters out as Derek moves back to his neck. Derek takes a quick moment to smile against the skin, because there’s no way Stiles is going to refuse, and presses fully against Stiles, letting out a small moan to tease him. 

“You look so fucking sexy though.” He rolls his hips against Stiles’, grinning when Stiles gasps. He moves up and lets his lips ghost over Stiles’, feeling Stiles panting against his cheeks. He watched as Stiles’ eyes fluttered from his eyes to his lips and back again. When Stiles just stands there, Derek moves his hand to Stiles’ crotch, palming him through his dress pants.

“I really hate you,” Stiles mutters. He presses against Derek’s shoulders then, backing him up until he hits the wall and kisses Derek, pinning him against the wall by his hips. Derek moans, threading his fingers in Stiles’ hair as he opens his mouth, biting down on Stiles’ bottom lip. 

“Fuck your dad, happy birthday to me,” Derek gasps when Stiles moves back for air. He thumps his head back against the wall, taking in the sight of Stiles with his hair messy in a goddamn  _ suit _ .

“Happy fucking birthday to you,” Stiles says, kissing him again. Stiles grabs his hands, pinning them above his head as he latches onto Derek’s neck, biting and licking at the spots that Stiles fucking  _ knows  _ make Derek see stars. Derek feels his mouth fall open, and he grinds against Stiles’ thigh, desperately searching for friction.

Stiles steps back then, going to unbutton his shirt, but Derek grabs his hand.

“You’re keeping that suit on,” Derek mutters, spinning them around so Stiles leans against the wall instead of him. He smirks before dropping down onto his knees, keeping eye contact and he smiling as he hears the hitch in Stiles’ breathing. 

Derek lets his hands trail over Stiles’ thighs, before opening Stiles’ belt buckle and pulling down his pants. He palms Stiles’ dick through his boxers, glancing up at him from under his eyelashes. He feels a pulse of heat shoot through him as he thinks about the way he must look right now, on his knees in front of Stiles in that fucking suit. He quickly unzips his own pants to relieve a bit of the pressure. 

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles gasps out as Derek pulls down his boxers, his dick accidentally smacking against the side of Derek’s face. Derek huffs out a breath of laughter before licking from the base to the tip, glancing up at Stiles. He wraps his fingers around the base, sucking Stiles down as far as he can, running his tongue over the vein on the underside and through the slit. “Christ, Derek, you look so good like this, on your knees for me.”

Derek moans in response shoving a hand into his own boxers, moving his fist over himself hard and fast. “I want you to fuck my mouth,” he chokes out when he pulls back to breathe, voice rough. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says, his hands in his own hair. “Fuck, you’re  _ serious _ .” 

Derek shoots him a look before sinking back down, and Stiles moans, immediately latching his fingers into Derek’s hair, pushing further into Derek’s mouth. He slowly started to move his mouth up and down, Stiles’ cock going further down each time. Stiles throws his head back against the wall as his fingers clench in Derek’s hair.

“Close,” Stiles gasps out, pulling Derek’s hair forward suddenly and roughly. Derek moans and he spills into his hand, sucking harder until Stiles comes in his mouth. He swallows it down and when he looks up at Stiles, he absolutely  _ ruined _ , leaning against the wall, hair messy and suit ruffled.

“I think I’ll start wearing suits more often,” Stiles pants out and Derek smiles.

He definitely should. 


	7. Crowd surfing Stiles and bodyguard Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Stiles loves to crowd surf, but what he loves even more is the hot bodyguard that lifts him over the fence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff
> 
> **TW: PANIC ATTACK**

Stiles absolutely  _ loves  _ concerts. He loves seeing his favorite bands live, loves singing with a crowd of people, but most of all, he loves crowd surfing. Mosh pits aren’t really his thing - he loves dudes, and he loves jumping them, but he preferably does it in a more sexual manner - but crowd surfing is so nice.    


He loves the feeling of being carried by so many people, and sometimes the singers actually greet him which is the absolute  _ coolest _ , but by far the best thing about crowd surfing is the bodyguard. For the past bazillion concerts Stiles has been to - okay, more like seven, but whatever - the same bodyguard/bouncer/whatever has picked Stiles up and pulled him over the fence and the guy is fucking  _ gorgeous _ . 

Scott likes to tell him he’s obsessed, but he’s  _ not _ , okay? So what if he’d like to rub his face against Tall, Dark and Broody’s face? And maybe kiss him until he passes out? It’s not like he’ll actually do anything about it. Besides - or so he tells Scott - he hasn’t jerked off to the thought of the guy. 

(He absolutely has. Multiple times. Listen though: the guy’s hands are fucking  _ obscene _ . How is Stiles supposed to deal with that?)   


But yeah, that’s how he ends up here. Tall, Dark and Broody is grabbing at him, his large hands grabbing at Stiles’ biceps as Stiles tries not to fall face-first into the concrete. The guy’s warm and so  _ comfortable _ and Stiles flushes as the guy grabs his waist, his hands going to the guy’s - very broad, Jesus Christ - shoulders.

“You again?” Tall, Dark and Broody says when he’s put Stiles down, glaring at him. Stiles smiles and tries to resist the urge to scratch at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry?” Stiles says, cheeks flushed red. “I wasn’t aware crowd surfing was illegal.”

“It’s not,” Tall, Dark and Broody grumbles, arms crossed as his eyebrows draw down further. “But you’ll get hurt if you go on like this.” 

Stiles shrugs and he does scratch his neck this time, praying to god that Tall, Dark and Broody hasn’t seen the way his face practically  _ glows _ red under his scrutiny. The way his arms are folded make his biceps bulge obscenely and Stiles swallows, shifting his weight and hoping the bulge in his pants isn’t too noticeable. Shit. 

“Whatever, man,” he mutters. “It’s my life.” 

The guy turns away then, grabbing the next crowd surfer, and Stiles tells himself the sinking feeling in his stomach isn’t disappointment. He walks away, hoping he doesn’t as let down as he feels. 

He’ll ask the guy out. Someday. Maybe.

-

Tall, Dark and Broody turns out to be right, of course. Because who is Stiles kidding, it’s  _ him _ , and he’s a living, breathing danger to everyone around him, but mostly to himself. 

One minute, he’s happily being carried toward the fence, where he can already see Tall, Dark and Broody waiting for him, and riding the high of almost flying, and the next he can’t  _ see anything _ . There’s sound all around him, and his head hurts and he can’t  _ breathe _ . His heart is beating and he can’t stop and there are too many people and Stiles can’t fucking breathe. 

Someone pulls him up, and he can do nothing but go up, can’t resist anything because he’s too weak and he can’t move and there’s not enough air. Someone puts their hands on his face and it’s  _ too much _ , too much noise, too much people. 

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” someone asks him but it sounds distant and Stiles can’t - he can’t  _ talk _ . Someone grabs his hand and place it on their stomach. “Breathe with me, kid, just try to breathe.” 

And then he’s lifted up, until he’s leaning against a firm chest as someone carries him out the tent, away from everything. He gasps when the air hits his lungs, breathing in tandem with the guy who’s carrying him. He doesn’t notice he’s shaking until he notices how much he’s moving against the guy’s chest. 

He tilts his head up to look at the guy who’s carrying at him, and he immediately feels his throat close up and his cheeks flush. Fuck that’s - that’s Tall, Dark and Broody, who’s running towards the paramedics with Stiles in his arms, just. Dear Christ, that’s so embarrassing. Stiles buries his head in the guy’s chest to hide his mortification - and also, just because he can. 

“Hey!” the guy yells when they get close to the bright yellow tent. “He needs help!” 

The guy sets him down on a chair and someone immediately pushes a bottle of water into his hand, telling him to drink a bit. He does, because his throat feels dry and swallowing is painful and he doesn’t want to look at Tall, Dark and Broody unless he  _ has to _ . 

“How did this happen?” one of the paramedics asks Tall, Dark and Broody and Stiles is confused until he presses against the burning spot on his head and his fingers come away covered in blood. 

“He fell while crowd surfing,” Tall, Dark and Broody says - probably with a glare Stiles’ way, but hey, Stiles isn’t going to check. He’s not going to look at him. 

“Aw, sweetheart,” the paramedic says as she presses a gauze against his head and Stiles resist the urge to flinch away because fuck, that stings. “This is going to hurt a second.” 

“Thanks for the warning,” Stiles mumbles, but no one hears him. 

“Hey,” Tall, Dark and Broody says when they’re standing outside the hideous tent, laying an arm on Stiles’ shoulder. “Are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard out there.” 

Stiles shrugs, but leans into the guy’s touch. He can always blame it on a concussion if it’s weird, but he’s hurt and the guy’s warm and Stiles is allowed to indulge for a second, damn it. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “Thanks for helping- what’s your name?” 

The guy frowns for a second before murmuring a “Derek.”

Stiles can’t help but smile at that, because now he finally has a name to shout out when he’s coming his brains out. Is that creepy to say while Derek’s hand is still on his shoulder? Probably, but Stiles really can’t bring himself to care right now.

“Well, Derek, I’m Stiles!” Stiles says as cheerfully as he can manage, turning around to face Derek. “I’m kinda bummed I missed the rest of concert though.” 

Derek finally -  _ finally _ \- smiles then, eyes twinkling and crinkling at the corners and shit. Shit, someone save Stiles, because Derek has dimples and bunny teeth. Freaking, honest to God  _ bunny teeth _ . He’s sure he’s going to die of adorableness now. He’s going to faint and not even the paramedics will be able to patch him up. 

“I can make that up to you,” Derek says and he grabs Stiles’ arm, pulling him towards the tents behind the stage where Of Mice and Men just performed. Stiles swallows, his hands shaking as he “accidentally” falls a bit behind, forcing Derek to grab his hand. 

He flushes red when Derek tangles their fingers together and squeezes them before tugging again. He can hear his heart pounding away in his chest, his stomach flipping as Derek looks over his shoulder with a shy smile before entering the tent.

Stiles is never going to leave him alone now.

-

**Bonus scene:**

He doesn’t crowd surf anymore, unfortunately. But, Stiles decided, it was high time to stop after he almost brained himself on the fence. The only good thing to come out the whole shebang was Derek, who quit his job as a bodyguard a few months back, when he and Stiles decided to move to New York together. 

The cool thing about New York - besides the people and the food - is that there’s a concert every other week or so. And now, in the spirit of their first - well, not really their first, but  _ semantics _ \- meeting, Stiles decided to get them tickets to one. Because honestly, when he saw that Of Mice and Men were coming, he couldn’t resist. 

So now they’re here, at the back of the venue, screaming the lyrics together. Stiles bumps his shoulder against Derek’s and Derek smiles at him, pushing him back. 

“Hey,” Stiles shouts in Derek’s ear when the song’s over. “D’you think you could lift me up?” 

“I’m not letting you crowd surf, Stiles,” Derek deadpans, glaring at him and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“I just wanna sit on you, come on, lift me up.” 

Derek huffs but puts Stiles on top of his shoulders anyways. Stiles woops before leaning down and pecking Derek on the cheek, whispering, “Thanks, babe.” in his ear, before belting out the next song. 

And if he feels extra safe and special in Derek’s arms? Well, that had never been a well-kept secret anyways. 


	8. OBGYN!Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Derek is an OBGYN who helps Lydia gave birth, and he mistakenly sees Stiles as the father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff and angst

Derek likes his job. He doesn’t love it exactly, that’s kind of hard when you’re faced with crying babies and screaming women at least three hours per day, but he likes it enough. It keeps him busy, out of his head. It’s the most perfect job he could ask for, if he’s honest with himself. He’s always liked helping people out, liked feeling helpful and this is just another way to do that.

His scrubs rustle as he speed-walks to room 304, to the newly-arrived couple. He’s just going to check up on them, just a routine thing and then they can wait. It’s probably his favorite part of the job, meeting the ecstatic soon-to-be-parents before the wife goes into labor.

When he reaches the plain oak-wood door, he knocks, just out of courtesy. You never know when people are changing in a hospital, and he’s probably seen enough vagina’s for the rest of his life.

“Come in!” a pleasant female voice says and Derek can’t hold back his smile. The moms are always the most excited, even if they’ve given birth before, and he gets it. No matter how many times he’s held a newborn baby in his arms, he’s always awestruck at seeing the tiny crying human.

“Hi, I’m Derek,” he says when he walks in and he shakes the girl’s hand. She’s a tiny pretty thing, red hair flowing around her and if Derek were into women, he’d definitely think he’d be attracted to her. 

“Lydia,” she says primly, shaking his hand before waving her hand over to the guy standing besides her bed and Derek - Derek’s heart stops for a second. “That’s Stiles.” 

The guy - Stiles, apparently - waves hesitantly, cheeks flushed red with nerves probably, and Derek needs a moment. Stiles’ fingers are long and they wave around gracefully and they’re fucking  _ obscene _ . His eyes are big, mouth slightly open and Derek - Derek  _ wants _ . He can already feel himself staring and he opens his mouth, about to say something stupid when he remembers himself. Stiles is here with his girlfriend. He’s having a baby. 

Shit, this is going to be even  _ worse  _ than normal.

-

“Um, Derek? Are you in there?” someone asks from behind him and Derek turns around, ready to face whoever’s there. He has to swallow when he sees Stiles standing in the doorway, wringing his hands together and shifting his weight. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a small, nervous smile on his face and Derek can’t help the pang in his chest. He’s seen the way the dads get with their babies, knows Stiles is probably excited to finally have a child.

“Stiles,” Derek says, trying his best to smile as he throws the plastic gloves into the trashcan. Anything to keep him from looking at Stiles too long. “Is something wrong with Lydia or the kid? Are they doing okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles answers, too quickly and he flushes down his neck. Derek would like to find out where that flush ends, wants to bite at it and – and Derek should stop, before he goes too far. He has a newborn  _ son _ , for Christ’s sake. “I was actually wondering if I could ask you something? It’s not baby or Lydia-related, well, maybe sort of, in a weird way and-“

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts him before Stiles gives himself an aneurysm from rambling. Stiles still isn’t really looking at him, instead choosing to stare at his dirty Converse and shit, maybe he  _ knows _ . Maybe Stiles knows Derek wants to get to know him, knows Derek finds him fascinating  _ somehow _ . But he growing anxiety in his stomach gives way to the ache in his heart when he takes in all Stiles’ nervous habits, the way his nose keeps twitching. Sighing, he continues, “Are you okay? You can ask me anything, that’s what I’m here for."

Derek wants to walk up to Stiles and place a hand on his shoulder, maybe hug him and then kiss him a little, but instead he tries for a nonchalant pose against the doorpost. Stiles takes a deep breath, to steel himself, Derek presumes, and he opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“I uh,” Stiles starts, pulling at his hear as he gets increasingly frustrated with himself, and Derek wants to pull those ridiculous fingers from his hair and thread them with his own. “Look, this might be wildly inappropriate, and I know where in your work environment and whatever but,” Stiles takes another breath, stopping his hands from flailing around and instead clenching his hands into fists. “I was wondering if I could take you out some time?”

That makes Derek stop, the bottom of his stomach dropping because Stiles – Stiles is somehow the personification of  _ everything _ Derek wants, and he’s here asking Derek on a date but. But Stiles’ girlfriend just  _ gave birth _ . To Stiles’  _ son _ . And Derek is seeing red, because he saw how Lydia and Stiles looked at each other, saw the adoration and yet Stiles is here, asking him out.

“How dare you,” Derek whispers, glaring at Stiles, and he relishes in the way Stiles flinches. “How dare you ask me out, when your girlfriend and your son are sitting there, in that room.”

Then he slams the door in Stiles’ face, not caring about customer service or whatever. He plops down onto the couch, hanging his head between his knees and taking deep breaths – in through the nose, out through the mouth – to calm himself because this. This is the most disgusting thing Derek’s seen in his life.

The doorknob twists and Derek twirls around, ready to rip Stiles a new one because he’s not going to stand by and see this man cheat on his girlfriend. He opens his mouth, ready to shout, but Stiles is quicker.

“Lydia’s not my girlfriend,” Stiles blurts out, wide-eyed. “Or my wife.”

Everything stops for a second and Derek can’t  _ breathe _ , because that doesn’t make any sense. He helped Lydia give birth and Stiles was  _ there _ , squeezing her hand, helping her through it, grinning at the toddler in his arms but it’s not his?

“Lydia’s husband he- he’s in France right now, but she wanted someone to help her through her labor and well,” Stiles shrugs, not looking at Derek again. Suddenly, he feels guilty. Guilty for assuming it, guilty for yelling at Stiles. Guilty for thinking Stiles would cheat on his girlfriend. And Stiles just looks so small, shoulders drawn down as he rubs his hands together. “But if you- if you still don’t want to, I understand.”

Stiles turns around, ready to walk away, but Derek isn’t about to stand by and let that happen. He puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, makes him turn around and suddenly Derek can’t breathe because Stiles’ eyes are even prettier up close.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, watching as Stiles’ pupils dilate. “I want to.”

And then Stiles smiles, big and wide and ridiculous, and Derek can’t help but smile back. He’s pretty certain this is going to be good. 


	9. History Nerd!Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History nerd!Derek has a crush on the captain of the Math team, Stiles Stilinski

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff and angst
> 
> **Note:** There is Ancient Greek in this fic! Hover over the letters to see that translation

“Derek,” Erica says, poking his side.

He grumbles at her and keeps his gaze trained on his book.

“Derek, come on, you’ve read that at least a thousand times now.”

He just huffs and turns away, pushing his glasses up his nose. Erica should know better by now anyways; this must be the millionth time she’s tried to get him to stop reading and it never ever works.

Derek wouldn’t say he’s obsessed with History, he just has a healthy appreciation for it. Laura and Erica like to call it an obsession, but they also think that Daniel Craig’s the best Bond so Derek doesn’t listen to their opinions too much. Besides, he might write his own interpretations of History, and he might like to draw Napoleon and Shakespeare, but that doesn’t mean anything. There are plenty of people out there who do the same thing, Derek’s sure of it.

“Leave him alone, Erica,” Boyd says, voice quiet and low and Derek remembers why he keeps Boyd around. “You know how he gets.”

Erica huffs before sidling closer to Boyd. Derek hides his smile behind the pages of his book. Those two are so obvious yet so oblivious. It’s almost like a Shakespearean tragedy sometimes.

“There’s a quiz at the Rec Center tomorrow,” Derek grumbles and he feels the tips of his ears heat as Erica laughs. It’s not a malicious laugh, but it still makes Derek duck his head and wince a little.

“Like you need to study for a History quiz,” she says and Derek frowns. You can never know enough about History and he’s behind on his reading, mostly because Cora keeps distracting him and he seems to be drawing a lot more.

He buries himself in the book and leaves them be, taking advantage of them sneaking glances at each other to continue reading.

-

The History quiz is about the Eighty Years’ War between the Dutch and the Spaniards. It’s one of Derek’s favorite wars, filled with twists and jokes - plus, the origin of April Fools - that make Derek smile every time he thinks about them.

He sits down in his usual chair at the Rec Center. The room’s already filled with people, most of them over the age of forty and Derek feels horribly out of place. These people probably studied History in college, have a real passion and feel for it and Derek feels inadequate next to them. He shifts, knee bouncing as he twiddles his thumbs, trying to squash down the nerves.

“Derek?” someone asks and his head shoots up. He hadn’t expected to see a familiar face here, but here is Stiles Stilinski, standing in front of him. Derek feels his stomach flip.

Stiles Stilinski, infamous benchwarmer on the Lacrosse team and captain of the Math team, with long fingers and bright eyes, who makes Derek blush and stutter more than anyone else. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m participating,” he mumbles, looking away as he feels his cheeks flush red. Stiles probably thinks he’s the biggest loser, attending dorky History activities at the Rec Center and liking it.

“Oh, that’s so cool!” Stiles grins and Derek looks back up to him, heart skipping a beat. Stiles’ eyes are twinkling, crinkling at the corners, and he looks so pretty that Derek can’t make himself look away. “I’m here with my Dad. He’s totally a closet History nerd, and I finally convinced him to go to one of these.” Stiles leans closer then, close enough that Derek can see the dark smudges of his eyelashes and he can’t help but glance down at Stiles’ lips. “Don’t tell anyone,” Stiles suddenly whispers. “But I think I’ll be cheering for you, if you’re gonna participate.”

Derek’s heart is pounding away like crazy in his chest, because Stiles - Stiles just said he wants Derek to win, more so than his own father? Stiles straightens up and walks away to find his dad, and Derek tells himself that the sinking feeling in his stomach isn’t disappointment. Derek watches him leave, unable to look away from Stiles’ broad shoulders and he flushing when Stiles looks over his shoulder, throwing him a wave and a wink.

Derek’s heart doesn’t stop pounding until he’s halfway done with the quiz.

-

He’s running through the school, panting softly as he peeks into the next classroom. His heart is pounding, hands trembling as he wipes the sweat off his forehead. He lost his notebook, the one with the doodles and the stories that no one was supposed to see. He can only imagine what Jackson would do if he finds it, probably shove him into a locker and laugh at him some more.

“Looking for something?” a soft voice comes from behind him. Derek jumps and turns around, breath hitching as he looks at who’s standing there. Stiles, his hands shoved into the pockets of his khaki’s and a blush on his cheeks. Derek can feel himself growing hotter.

“I uh,” he starts, flushing because he can’t seem to get the words out. Stiles’ eyes are impossibly big and brown, a twinkle in them and Derek’s heart skips a beat. “I lost my notebook?”

“Oh!” Stiles says, perking up before grabbing something from his bag. “You mean this one?”

Stiles is holding a notebook, a plain brown one with a leather cover and Derek’s heart stops because that one’s his and what if Stiles read it? What if Stiles saw all his stories, his fantasies about History? He tenses, preparing himself for the inevitable laughter but it doesn’t come. Instead, Stiles shoves the notebook into his hands, and when Derek looks up, Stiles’ face is red.

“I know it was rude of me to do, but I was so curious and I couldn’t help it, so I read a few of your stories and I just wanted to say that I think they’re really good and you should maybe think about getting them published,” Stiles blurts out, eyes widening when he’s done and then he runs away.

Derek stares after him, his heart pounding and mind reeling as he brushes his fingers over the soft leather of his notebook. He pushes his glasses up his nose, ignoring his own burning face.

Stiles likes his stories.

-

“Who are you drawing?” Laura asks him as she sits down next to him at the kitchen table. Derek shrugs, hand absentmindedly following the curve of a jaw as he flicks through another page of Much Ado About Nothing.

“Just Shakespeare, why?”

Laura starts laughing then, her head thrown back and Derek blushes, burying his head in his book. He knows he’s not the best at drawing, but he doesn’t need her to throw it in his face. He’s practicing, he really is.

“Aw, Derek,” she wheezes, “do you have a crush on the captain of the Math team? What’s his name again? Stilinski?”

He jumps up at that, eyes wide as his heart pounds because there’s _no way_ she knows that. He and Stiles don’t even _talk_.

“No! Why would you say that?!” he yells, hoping that Laura will just leave him alone. Instead, she leans onto the table, grinning as her eyes flicker from Derek’s face to his drawing.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think Shakespeare had moles,” she smirks. “Or was that good-looking.”

When Derek looks down at his notebook, he sees Stiles’ grinning face staring back at him, complete with his ridiculous eyes and the constellation of moles running down the side of his face. Derek snaps the notebook closed and runs upstairs, ignoring Laura’s laughter as his face burns.

He throws himself onto his bed, burying himself in his pillow. He might like Stiles. Maybe. Just a little bit.

-

“Hey, Hale!” Jackson shouts. “Written any _fanfiction_ lately?”

Derek stops, staring at Jackson’s smirking face, the mirth burning in his eyes and Derek - Derek can’t believe what he just said. How did Jackson even know he writes? The only person at school who knows beside Boyd, Erica, Cora and Laura is Stiles.

The bottom of his stomach drops and Derek feels like he might pass out. Stiles - Stiles wouldn’t have told them, right? Stiles is a nice guy, and Derek trusts him and -

“I always knew you were pathetic, Hale, but this just takes the cake,” Jackson sneers and Derek’s feet are moving before he knows it, running to the bathroom as he tries to calm his breathing, his eyes stinging at the corner with unshed tears. Stiles is the only one who could’ve told them, there’s no other explanation.

His vision starts blurring and he’s panting, head spinning as he sits down against the sink. He needs to calm down, needs to breathe, needs to _stop thinking about Stiles._

“Holy shit, Derek? Are you okay? What happened?”

It’s Stiles. Of course it’s Stiles. Derek feels torn between laughing, punching and crying because Stiles _told them_. Derek trusted him and Stiles told them his biggest secret and Derek feels like he’s going to die.

“Was it funny?” he says, “Telling them I write? Funny seeing them humiliate me?”

Stiles frowns in confusion, putting his hand on top of Derek’s, but Derek shrugs him off because he wants Stiles to leave him alone.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles breathes. “Please talk to me, Derek, what’s wrong?”

“You told Jackson about my stories, just to make fun of me,” Derek laughs hysterically, biting his lip to keep the tears from streaming down his face. “I hate you.”

The words have left Derek’s mouth before he knows what he’s saying. Stiles gets up and shrugs, walking away and when Derek looks up, Stiles’ shoulders are shaking, tense and suddenly Derek feels like an asshole.

“[Σε ἀγαπω](),” he shouts down the hall as Stiles walks away, because he can’t let Stiles _do that_. “[Σε ὄμμαι ἐισιν καλοι και σε ἀγαπω. Νομιξω ἐι ὄ ἀνηρ ὄ καλλιστος ἐν την γην]().”

Stiles promptly stops, mouth hanging open as he stares at Derek with wide eyes, his fingers clenching into the straps of his backpack. Derek’s heart is pounding and he wishes he could take it back, because he’s never going to leave this alone and _oh god_. “What did you just say?”

“I- I don’t,” he says, stumbling backwards as Stiles advances on him. Derek’s frozen, Stiles eyes crazed and filled with - with hope? Derek bites his lip, looking away from Stiles, anywhere but Stiles. “It’s just some Ancient Greek. It means nothing.”

“Derek,” Stiles breathes and suddenly Stiles is in front of him, his long fingers cupping Derek’s jaw and tilting his head upwards, staring intently at him and Derek feels trapped. “It’s obviously not nothing. What does it mean?”

Derek’s sure his entire face is red, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks he might throw up. Stiles is standing so close, his eyes big and inquisitive, his chest brushing against Derek’s and he’s so _warm_.

“It,” Derek murmurs, looking away. “It means ‘I love you’.”

Stiles grins then, and Derek can’t look away, because Stiles is so pretty and he’s not running away - why is he not running away? His breath hitches when Stiles leans in closer, Stiles’ eyes flickering down to his lips and when he looks back up, his pupils are blown wide.

“I didn’t-” Stiles starts, looking away from Derek to his Converse. “I didn’t tell them. They overheard me talking to Scott.”

Derek frowns, biting his lip, but he can’t deny the weight that falls off his chest when Stiles says that. He feels kinda bad for jumping to conclusions, but he still doesn’t get why Stiles told Scott, why he felt the need to embarrass Derek in front of someone else.

“I might’ve been gushing about you,” Stiles admits, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Because you’re cute. And I might be in love with you.”

Derek freezes, everything around him stopping as Stiles looks up at him through his eyelashes. Stiles likes him back. _Stiles likes him back_. He can’t do anything but stare, watching as Stiles brings a hand up to Derek’s face and cups his jaw.

Then Stiles kisses him, their lips gliding against each other and Derek brings a hand up to Stiles’ shoulders, clutching at his shirt, his heart racing because _Stiles is kissing him_. Stiles smiles against his lips before he pulls back, his forehead resting against Derek’s. Derek smiles back, biting his lip.

This is going to be great.


	10. Massage Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gives Derek a massage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff
> 
> (Sorry if it's less good than my previous ones! I wrote this in twenty minutes, so it's kinda rushed...)

Derek’s not a workaholic. He doesn’t think so, at least. So what if he loses himself in his work for hours and immediately falls asleep when he gets home? Those are just the consequences of having a nine to five job, it comes with being an adult and actually bringing in money. That being said, Stiles has a hard time believing him. 

“Derek, come on,” Stiles whines as Derek lets himself fall face-first onto the couch, groaning when he hits the soft cushions. “You’re gonna have to stop doing this some time soon.” 

“I’m just working,” he mumbles, the words muffled by fabric. Stiles snorts and Derek feels the couch dip down next to his waist as Stiles sits down, his hand absentmindedly brushing over Derek’s side. 

“You’re overworking,” Stiles says, voice soft and fond as his fingers trail up Derek’s neck, carding through his hair. Derek just hums something back, sinking deeper into the cushions as Stiles continues working his magic fingers, gently pressing into Derek’s skin as he moves them back to his shoulders. 

“Take off your shirt,” Stiles whispers, leaning down as he places a kiss against Derek’s neck. Derek turns his head to glare at him, because if there’s one thing he isn’t in the mood for right now, it’s sex. Stiles just smiles down at him, the soft, tender one that he only gives Derek. 

“I’m not asking for sex,” Stiles says, voice low and muted as he kisses Derek’s cheek, hand cupping his jaw. “I just wanna give you a massage.”

“I don’t need one,” Derek grumbles, frowning at Stiles, but Stiles just gives him a knowing look and kisses his temple, motioning with his hands that he wants Derek’s shirt off. Derek scowls but sits up anyways, tugging off his shirt and throwing it over the back of the couch. 

He raises his eyebrows when Stiles glances down, eyes dark and hungry for a second, before he looks back up to Derek’s face and laughs, a deep one with twinkling eyes and bunched-up cheeks and Derek feels his heart beat faster. Stiles reaches up, patting his hair and says, “It was sticking up. Now lie down before I make you.” 

“Fine,” he huffs, but he lies back down before Stiles can blink, smiling as the soft material under him gives with his weight. His head’s on top of his arms, turned so he can keep track of Stiles and he chuckles when he sees Stiles staring at his ass. 

“Hey!” Stiles says, pretending to be affronted as his cheeks turn red. “I was just admiring the view.” 

“I thought you weren’t angling for sex?” Derek mumbles and smiles when Stiles huffs indignantly, bringing his hands up to Derek’s shoulder before pressing his fingers into the meat and muscle there and Derek swears he blacks out for a second. Stiles chuckles, rubbing his thumbs in circles as he presses down again and Derek blushes when he realizes the moan he heard came from him. 

Stiles lies a kiss on the back of his neck, working his way down to the small of Derek’s back, the pressure from his fingers alternating between hard and soft, almost reverent. Derek burrows his head in his arms and he can feel himself growing less tense as Stiles progresses, like Stiles is shaving off the rough edges. 

When he manages to open his eyes, his heart skips a beat. Stiles is leaning over him, frowning in concentration, mouth hanging open as he works the knots out of Derek’s muscles. The dim light makes him seem soft, his eyes gold and Derek feels his stomach flip.

“I love you,” Derek whispers and he can feel himself drifting to sleep as Stiles presses down close to his spine. He smiles when Stiles places a kiss on top of the triskelion. 

“Love you too.” 


	11. Nerd!Derek (Lacrosse Edition)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Nerd!Derek has a crush on Lacrosse player!Stiles and memorizes all his scores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff
> 
>  **EDIT:** Someone drew something for this ficlet!!!!! Please check it out, it’s soooo cool ^^ You can find it [here](http://ranger52silverbrooke.tumblr.com/post/147389372145/nerd-derek-and-jock-stiles-inspired-and-created)!

It happens on a Friday. Derek almost forgets his glasses, trips over his own feet at least twice and almost falls face-first into his lunch. He’s probably sporting five bruises on his shins and his glasses are covered in mashed potatoes, and _just_ when he thinks it can’t get any worse, Stiles walks into the cafeteria, a massive grin on his face and Derek gets so distracted he walks right into the door.

He immediately feels himself flush red and he slaps a hand over his cheek, where the inevitable bruise will appear. When he looks over his shoulder, Jackson is snickering with his minions and Derek swallows, humiliation burning in his stomach. He turns around to walk to the toilets to clean his glasses - because it’s not like he can see properly without them, fucking Jackson - when someone falls into step next to him.

“You okay? It looked like you smacked into the door pretty hard back there,” the person says, and Derek instantly stops walking, pulling the sleeves of his Henley over his hands. Stiles.

“If-” he starts, cheeks flushing when he trips over his own words. He stubbornly keeps his gaze trained on his dirty Converse. “If you’re here to make fun of me, could you please leave?”

“Hey!” Stiles says indignantly and Derek flinches. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he wants to fix it. He doesn’t want Stiles to hate him. “Look at me.”

He glances up at Stiles from under his eyelashes, and it takes his breath away. There’s a crease in between Stiles’ eyebrows, and his eyes are tinged with worry and - and something else. Stiles licks his lips and Derek involuntarily tracks the movement, feeling a pulse of warmth shoot through him.

“I’m not here to make fun of you,” Stiles says, voice firm and Derek feels pinned down by his eyes. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Stiles reaches out then, grabbing Derek’s sleeve and rubbing his thumb over the skin of Derek’s wrist. Derek can’t help the little gasp he lets out at that. His flush darkens, but he doesn’t pull his hand back, because he’s not going to reject any kind of affection Stiles gives him.

“Oh,” he mumbles, face growing redder when the corners of Stiles’ mouth turn up. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t let go, instead choosing to rub his thumb over Derek’s palm. Derek’s face is burning.

He doesn’t want Stiles to stop.

-

“Fucking Finstock,” Jackson practically shouts through the halls. Danny gives everyone an apologetic smile, because apart from Stiles and Scott, Danny’s probably the nicest person in school. “Giving Stilinski the position of Team Captain. The loser hasn’t even scored ten goals this year.”

Stiles is leaning against his locker, smiling at Jackson’s tirade as he fistbumps Scott, and Derek’s heart skips a beat when their eyes lock. Stiles gives him a small wave, nodding imperceptibly to Jackson and Derek blushes, heart pounding in his chest.

“Actually,” Derek mumbles, half-hoping Jackson doesn’t hear him and just leaves him alone. “He has.”

Jackson comes to a stop in front of him, eyebrows raised and mouth drawn down in a sneer as he looks Derek up and down. Derek shifts, hoping Jackson doesn’t notice how nervous he is as he clenches his hands on the strap of his messenger bag.

“What,” Jackson says, voice icy cold, “did you just say?”

Derek tries to look over Jackson’s shoulder, praying Laura or Cora - even Erica - might see what’s happening and come save him from Jackson’s impending wrath, but everyone’s just staring at them, like Jackson isn’t about to pummel into him.

“Stiles has scored twelve goals this year. You scored eight,” he murmurs, and when he looks at Jackson he flinches. Jackson’s face is filled with indignant fury - like it’s impossible for Stiles to have scored more goals than he has, even though Derek knows he’s right.

He winces when Jackson pushes him into a locker, the metal digging uncomfortably into his back. He’s taller than Jackson, but Jackson’s stronger and his forearms are braced against Derek’s chest, his fingers bunching up the fabric of Derek’s sweater.

“Want to repeat that?”

“Jackson-” Danny starts, placing a hand on Jackson’s shoulder to pull him away when he gets interrupted.

“Hey, hey! Leave him alone!” Stiles shouts, shoving Jackson off of him and Derek sighs, taking in a deep breath as his ears flush pink. He kind of wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“You think you can boss me around just ‘cause Coach made you captain?” Jackson spits out, pushing against Stiles’ shoulder, but Stiles stays where he is. His shoulders are drawn up in a tense line and they’re impossibly broad. Derek can’t bring himself to look away from them.

“No, but I can kick you off the team,” Stiles says, voice flat. When he looks back at Derek there’s a twinkle in his eyes, and Derek can feel his heart pounding away in his chest. “Derek just made an observation.”

Derek nods. There’s no way he’s getting in between Jackson and Stiles, not when Jackson’s so ramped up on testosterone that he looks like he’d take out half of the people in the hallway within the blink of an eye.

“Fine,” Jackson bites out and then he’s gone, whirling around in a dramatic manner, Danny chasing after him. Derek lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry about that, man,” Stiles says, his eyes drifting to the bruises on Derek’s wrist. Derek just shrugs, hoping Stiles doesn’t see the way he’s blushing. He swears Stiles’ eyes dip down a little further, but he might just be imagining it.  

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, looking at the white floor instead of Stiles. He’s not sure if he could handle the look on Stiles’ face right now, probably filled with pity.

“It’s not.” Stiles frowns. “Let’s take you to the nurse’s.”

Derek lets himself be pulled, blushing when Stiles takes his messenger bag from him. He tries to tell Stiles that it isn’t necessary, but Stiles just shrugs it off with a blinding smile, shouldering both their bags.

“Ouch, that looks ugly,” Stiles mumbles when they’re at the nurse’s office and Derek’s pulled his sleeve up. Derek’s seen worse, has had worse bruises, but it’s a deep blue that’s already turning purple and he can’t help but agree.

“It’s not that bad,” he says instead, trying to shrug Stiles’ gaze off him, but Stiles just stares down at the bruise harder, like he can make it disappear if he glares enough at it.

“Yes it is,” Stiles says, gently prodding at the bruise. Derek hisses as the pain suddenly flares and Stiles throws him an apologetic smile, leaning back into his chair, running his hands through his hair until the strands stand up wildly.

“So uh,” Stiles says after awhile, voice soft and hesitant and Derek can’t _not_ look at him. He’s rubbing his palms over the fabric pants, like a nervous habit and Derek bites his lip. “You keep track of how many goals I’ve scored?”

“I-” Derek mumbles, heart pounding in his chest because Stiles wasn’t supposed to find out about that, Stiles wasn’t supposed to know Derek fervently keeps track of everything he does because he’ll start to resent Derek and Derek can’t - he can’t have that. “I just-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Stiles rushes to say, placing a hand on top of Derek’s. “I’m not like, judging you or anything.”

Derek nods, staring firmly at his hands in his lap, rubbing his fingers together. He’s sure he looks like a tomato by now, and he can’t shake off the feeling of Stiles watching his every move. He bites his lip, trying to stop himself from blurting out something stupid.

“Actually uh,” Stiles says, twisting his hands together. Derek swears his cheeks are red, but maybe that’s just the lighting. “Did you wanna go catch a movie some time?”

Derek’s heart stop. He can only stare at Stiles, who’s looking at him expectantly from under his eyelashes, brown eyes seeming gold in the harsh LED light.

“You- you wanna go out with me?”

The sound of his own voice surprises him, low and soft and filled with nerves that shouldn’t be there, but Stiles Stilinski, the Captain of the freaking Lacrosse team, just asked him out. _Him_ , Derek Hale, nobody times 500 and probably the biggest nerd in Beacon Hills High and for some reason, Stiles wants to go out with _him_.

“Don’t look so surprised, dude, have you seen yourself?” Stiles says indignantly, eyebrows raised, his hands waving in Derek’s general direction. Derek just shrugs, picking at his fingernails. “You can’t seriously tell me you don’t know how freaking cute you are.”

He shrugs again, biting his lip. His shoulders are too broad, his nose huge and his jaw’s way too square. His glasses make him look ridiculous.

“I’m not cute,” he mumbles and winces when Stiles huffs.

“You are adorable,” Stiles grins, and Derek - Derek can’t. Stiles is sitting in front of him, and he wants to go on a date with him and he thinks Derek’s _adorable._ Derek thinks he might die.

“So uh,” Stiles says, voice hesitant, when the awkward silence prolongs. “Did you actually want to go with me?”

It sounds so insecure, so small, that Derek’s heart squeezes. Stiles is the nicest guy ever - and also the most attractive person Derek’s ever met and he has no reason to sound like that. He shouldn’t ever sound like that.

“Yes!” he blurts out, way too quickly, so he repeats himself, softer this time. “Yes.”

“Sweet,” Stiles says, grin blinding as he grabs Derek’s hand, squeezing it as he tangles their fingers together.

Derek, shyly grins back at him. He can’t wait.


	12. Car Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Stiles riding Derek in the Jeep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Smut and humor
> 
> **Additional note:** Please don't expect too much smut to come out of this, it was supposed to be but it turned into this because I couldn't stop thinking about how impractical it'd be to have sex in a car...

“I’m not sure this was such a good idea,” Stiles pants as he hits his head against the ceiling for what has to be the thousandth time. 

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles into his neck, biting the skin and Stiles throws his head back again, tightening his hold on Derek’s shoulders. He’s pretty sure he was the one who proposed it, but  _ fuck _ . 

“I’m serious,” he bites out, shuddering when Derek runs his nails down Stiles’ side. “This- this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Derek snorts against his shoulder, running his nose over the curve of it before biting down. Stiles moans, driving back down against Derek, careful to avoid the ceiling as he moves, thighs trembling.

“‘M never doing this again,” he slurs, tilting Derek’s head to the side, running his fingers down his neck, scratching the way he knows Derek likes as he clenches down.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek moans, throwing his head back as he comes and Stiles feels himself come, warmth shooting up and down his spine as he fucks himself on Derek’s dick

“So,” he says, leaning his forehead onto Derek’s shoulder. Derek hums out a questioning sound and tightens his arms around Stiles’ waist. “How are we gonna clean this? Because there’s no way I’m gonna let come sink into the backseat.”

Derek groans, cuffing the back of his head and Stiles snickers. He climbs off of Derek though, rolling over, mindful of the jizz, because this is not a joke. He’ll have to burn the Jeep if that happens, because his Dad sits in the back sometimes and Stiles isn’t ready for that conversation. The “Have Safe Sex Here’s A Condom” Talk had been bad enough already. 

“Get me some wipes, big guy,” he whines, making grabby hands at the tissues in the front. Derek rolls his eyes but gets up anyways, leaning over the seats to grab the wipes and Stiles takes his time to ogle the way Derek’s ass looks, before he snorts because Derek’s jeans and underwear are bunched up around his thighs and he looks ridiculous.

Derek shoots a glare over his shoulder but Stiles’ grin only widens. He yelps when Derek throws the box of tissues at him, barely catching it before it hits him in the face. 

“I don’t see why you couldn’t just get them yourself,” Derek huffs, lying back again the seats, putting his arms behind his head and Stiles takes a moment to stare. He looks soft in the low glow of the streetlights, the curves of his muscles highlighted and he looks so often that it takes Stiles’ breath away. 

“You ready to go again?” Derek asks, the corners of his mouth turning up and Stiles swats his thigh before cleaning the come off his stomach. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says when he’s done, letting his eyes rove over Derek. “But there’s no way we’re gonna do it here. Again.” 

Derek leans forward, forcing Stiles to lie down on the seats and kisses him, licking into Stiles’ mouth as he grinds his hips down. Stiles groans, threading his hands through Derek’s hair and pulling Derek tighter against him. 

“Bet I could change your mind about that,” Derek says when he pulls away, peppering kisses over Stiles’ jaw and down his neck and Stiles sucks in a breath through his teeth. 

He probably could.


	13. Throwing Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Throwing apples was a way to express your love in Ancient Greece, please write something Sterek-y based on that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff

Every kid goes through this period in their life where they’re _obsessed_ with one aspect of History. Derek had told him his had been with the ancient Egyptians and Stiles can see where he’s coming from. If his mom had read him books about the Egyptians when he was younger he’d probably have liked them more than Derek.

His mom had only read to him about the Greeks. She’d told him that her parents had taken her on holiday to Greece once, back when she was still a kid, and she hadn’t been able to get them out of her mind. She’d promised Stiles she’d take him to Greece when he was older.

And then she’d fallen ill, her hands trembling so much she couldn’t even hold a book anymore, so Stiles had read to her. He’d told her about tales of Leda and the swan, of Perseus and of Troy. The story of Troy had been his mom’s favorite, and Stiles remembers reading them to her until his throat was sore.

She’d never been able to take him to Greece, but here he is in Athens, leaning on his suitcase as he waits for Derek to grab the attention of a cab driver. It’s sweltering hot, and he tugs on the collar of his shirt in an attempt to loosen it.

He watches Derek wipe the sweat off his forehead with his arm and he sympathizes. He’d be doing the same thing right now if it weren’t for the suitcase he’s throwing into the back.

“Where you wanna go?” the cab driver asks when they climb in, legs sticking to the faux-leather seats. He sees Derek wince when he sits down.

“Plaka Hotel,” Derek says and his voice is hoarse from the heat. They’re gonna have to buy like, five-hundred bottles of water. The cab driver nods and shouts something into his receiver that sounds suspiciously like Chinese. Then again, Stiles isn’t a polyglot so what does he know.

The buildings flash by. There’s little traffic, fortunately for them, ‘cause the heat feels stifling. He intertwines his fingers with Derek and Derek squeezes them. They’re both tired because of the flight here, and the suffocating warmth isn’t really helping.

“Did you know they used to throw apples at each other as a way of proposing?” he asks Derek to kill time. Derek looks at him, face blank as he quirks an eyebrow.

“That might just be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He nudges Derek’s stomach with his elbow, snickering when his head shoots up indignantly. Derek rolls his eyes and pushes his shoulder.

“Shut up, it’s romantic,” he mumbles as Derek tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

“It’s what started the Trojan War, Stiles.”

“Yeah, and what was the central theme of the Trojan War? Love.”

Derek opens his eyes to glare at him and Stiles smirks vindictively. Derek should know better than to fight with Stiles about Grecian History at this point in their relationship. Derek might’ve majored in History, but Stiles still knows more.

-

Stiles, predictably, immediately gets saddled with grocery duty, even though he’s the one without the superior healing factor. That’s what he told Derek, but Derek just grumbled something about beauty sleep and shooed him out. Stiles huffs as he trots up the stairs with three plastic bags. Like Derek needs beauty sleep. The dude’s still inhumanly beautiful when he hasn’t slept in days.

He freezes when he enters their hotel room, dropping the bags onto the floor. Derek’s lying on the bed, clad in nothing but a towel, his hair still damp with water. Stiles swallows. They might’ve been together for years now, but the sight of Derek has never stopped his heart from skipping a beat.

Derek’s eyes are closed, but the corners of his mouth are curled up into a smile. Stiles resists the urge to tickle the fucker; Derek can probably smell his arousal from a mile away. Instead, he grabs an apple from the bags, throwing it up and down a few times before he shouts, “Derek, catch!”

Derek immediately jackknifes off the bed, eyes wide as he catches the apple in his large palms, cradling it to his chest. He looks so startled that Stiles can’t help but snort.

“Aw, you really do love me,” Stiles snickers, crossing his hands over his heart as he pretends to swoon. Derek throws the apple back, glaring at him and it nearly hits Stiles in the head.

“Like you needed to throw an apple at me to establish that,” Derek grumbles, walking over to a suitcase to grab some underwear. He drops the towel and Stiles – Stiles swallows, eyes fixed on Derek’s backside because _damn_ , he still can’t believe he gets to tap that sometimes.

“I just like to see proof sometimes,” he says, his voice hoarse as watches Derek pulls his boxers up over his muscled thighs. Derek turns around, a small smile on his face as he stalks towards Stiles, pressing him up against the wall.

“I’ll show you proof,” Derek mumbles, leaning down to run his nose over the side of Stiles’ neck before he bites down, sucking slightly on the skin. Stiles moans and buries his hands in Derek’s hair.

Yeah, he likes to see proof.


	14. Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt:** Stiles pining after his best friend, Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genre: Fluff
> 
>  **A/N:** I'll be leaving for France in a few hours, and I won't have wifi for a few days, so if you leave a comment and I don't respond immediately, that's why ^^

The door creaks when Stiles opens it, just like it always has. He’s been telling Derek they should get it fixed some time, but Derek never does anything about it and neither does Stiles. It’s not urgent or anything, but it’s another thing to add to the list of minor annoyances.

He toes off his shoes as he steps inside, hanging up his coat as he cracks his neck. He loves his job - don’t get him wrong - but spending seventy percent of his time staring at a computer screen does nothing to alleviate minor aches, or the fact that he should probably buy glasses some time soon.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls out when he opens the door to their living room. They’ve been living together for - what - three years now? Since Stiles decided to get his Master’s anyways. They’ve certainly had enough time to build their own little quirks and rituals, and Stiles has had more than enough time to pretend the thought of Derek doesn’t send his mind reeling, doesn’t set his heart alight.

“Hey, I’m in here!” Derek calls - predictably - from the kitchen. Stiles can’t even remember the last time Derek didn’t cook a meal for both of them.

“What’s cooking, good-looking?”

Derek turns around to glare at him, but Stiles just gives him a shit-eating grin. Whatever it is, it smells good. _Really_ good. He tries to look over Derek’s shoulder, but Derek pushes him away. Stiles huffs impatiently.

“Just wait, Stiles,” Derek says, stirring something. Stiles rolls his eyes and sits down on the counter opposite of Derek, dangling his legs, ‘accidentally’ kicking Derek’s ass.

“Yeah, because patience is my best quality.”

“You can get a sneak peek if you-” Derek motions to his apron. Stiles swallows, staring at it, heart suddenly pounding. Derek’s wearing his ‘kiss the cook’ apron. He thinks about it for a second. It’d be so easy to just lean forward, pull Derek in by his shirt and kiss him. To finally touch him the way Stiles has wanted to for _years_.

He looks away, praying that Derek doesn’t see how red his face is. Derek’s been doing it a lot lately, making off-handed comments about kissing Stiles. Like Derek wants him, too.

“God, could you _stop_ doing that,” he bites out before he can stop himself. Derek freezes, hand stilling. Stiles can feel his heart sink down into stomach.

“Doing what?” Derek asks, frowning. Stiles looks away, fiddling with his thumbs in his lap. He never should’ve said anything.

“Nothing it’s- nothing.”

He shrugs, scratches the back of his neck. Derek shifts in front of him, until they’re standing face to face, Derek’s hand tilts his chin, forcing Stiles to look up at him. Stiles bites his lip. He’s never seen Derek’s eyes this close up before and they’re so intense, so questioning, so _worried_.

“It’s obviously not nothing, Stiles,” Derek says, voice soft, patient. It makes Stiles want to lash out, because Derek has no idea what he’s talking about, has no idea that Stiles wants to kiss him, wants to _devour_ him, wants to be selfish and never let him go.

“Just- I don’t know if you even know you’re doing it, but you keep, like, flirting with me? And maybe you’re doing it unconsciously or maybe it’s as a prank, but could you please stop? I know it might seem funny to you that your best friend is in love with you but it’s not, it’s really, _really_ , not. So if you could just-”

“Stiles,” Derek says, cutting off Stiles’ rant. Stiles is simultaneously grateful and embarrassed. “ _Stiles_. It’s not a joke.”

Stiles scoffs, dropping Derek’s gaze, biting on his fingernail to keep himself from crying.

“Sure it isn’t.”

“No, seriously. There. Is. No. Joke.”

If Derek’s telling the truth, and there isn’t a joke, then that’d mean -

Fuck. Derek _likes_ him.

“But- but you don’t even _like_ people like me. You prefer them quiet and pretty and everything I’m not,” Stiles sputters, heart pounding in his chest. He resists the urge to pinch himself; there’s no way this is real.

Derek takes a careful step towards him, face filled with hope and apprehension, but Stiles can’t - he can’t think right now. He can’t take his eyes of Derek, because he looks so beautiful, like everything Stiles has ever wanted and he’s _here_.

“And have those relationships ever lasted? I want _you_.”

Derek’s smiling at him, softly, not the usual grin, and it brightens when he sees the realization fly over Stiles’ face. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against Stiles’.

“I love you too, you idiot,” Derek breathes.

Stiles’ mind goes blank; he’s just staring at Derek. Derek chuckles and leans forward, brushing his lips against Stiles’ and Stiles surges forward, crashing them together. Derek smiles and licks into his mouth, sucking on his tongue. Stiles smiles against Derek’s lips.

Derek loves him back.


	15. Pseudonyms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Stiles frequents a coffee shop and is frustrated by not knowing the _really hot_ barista's name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Genre:** Fluff
> 
>  **Additional note:** Please don’t call the phone number used in this fic, I completely made it up

The thing is, Stiles is a college student. That means classes by day, studying by night, and eating, living and _breathing_ coffee. Which is why Stiles finds himself scrambling to get into the first coffee shop he sees, because he’s late and he doesn’t have time for long lines right now.

He practically runs to the door, almost tripping when slips on a patch of ice, but he catches himself when it’s too late. He quickly wonders about last winter, how many times he must’ve slipped, because New York is like a giant freaking ice rink this time of year.

That’s when he smacks face-first into the glass door – and really, he should’ve seen it coming, because he wasn’t paying attention. He rubs his nose, trying to get the skin to stop burning and muttering to himself about glass doors. They’re _evil_ , okay? The bane of Stiles’ freaking existence. This has to be the thousandth time he’s walked into one.

He looks up – for tissues or something, because he’s pretty sure his nose might be bleeding – when he freezes. Standing behind the counter is the most _gorgeous_ guy Stiles has seen in his entire life – and he ran into Ryan Gosling once. Ryan freaking _Gosling_.

Which is when he realizes the guy is smirking, his bright eyes twinkling, and Stiles’ heart sinks in his chest, because he’s pretty sure the guy saw him colliding with the door.

“Uh,” he says eloquently. He thinks the guy might’ve fried his brain. “Can I get like, a tissue or something?”

The guy’s grin broadens, before throwing a wad of tissues at Stiles. Stiles is sure his dick twitches in his pants. Why does he always like the assholes?

He takes his time to wipe his nose – and yup, there’s the blood, _gross_ – and stuff a tissue into his nostril, when the guy says, “Are you gonna order some coffee, or what.”

Stiles blinks dumbly for a second. He’d thought the guy’s – who Stiles mentally dubs Smirky McBrightEyes, just because it seems accurate – voice would be deeper. He certainly looks like it; all stubble and carefully ruffled hair with an impressive pair of eyebrows.

They’re also expressive, Stiles realizes when the guy raises his eyebrows. Which is also when he realizes he hasn’t answered yet, _shit_.

“Uh, sure,” he says. “Just a regular coffee please. Nothing fancy. And one of those blueberry muffins.”

“That’s gonna be three dollars and fifty cents,” the guy says, holding up his hand as Stiles carefully counts the coins in his wallet. “Name?”

He glances down at Smirky McBrightEyes’ chest, looking for a name tag – just so Stiles can stop mentally calling him Smirky McBrightEyes – but there’s nothing but a tight shirt, highlighting his muscles. When he stops drooling, he narrows his eyes, looking back up to the guy’s face.

“Darth Vader,” he says, because if he doesn’t get a name, then neither does Smirky McBrightEyes. The guy’s eyes widen in surprise, before he frowns in suspicion. Stiles hopes he at least writes down Darth Vader, he could really use some cheering up right now.

Smirky McBrightEyes turns away then, presumably making Stiles’ coffee and toasting his muffin, and Stiles takes a second to let his eyes wander. The guy’s shoulders are ridiculously broad, but he has a narrow waist and a great ass that Stiles would _really_ like to get his hands on. Like seriously.

He looks away when the guy turns back, because staring is rude and Stiles really isn’t in the mood for any potential homophobic comments which is when he remembers that shit, he’s late. When he looks up though, frantically checking if his coffee’s ready, the guy has a knowing smirk on his face. Stiles would hate it if it didn’t turn him on so much.

The guy slides his coffee and muffin towards him on the counter without a comment and Stiles glares at him – why, oh why, does he have such a weakness for hot assholes – but he doesn’t start an argument because he doesn’t have the time. Otherwise he would’ve complained about the customer service. Thoroughly. Especially after he takes a bit of his muffin and it’s cold and soggy.

It’s only when he’s done with his coffee and about to throw the cup into the trash, that he sees the loopy handwriting on the cup, saying _Anakin Skywalker_.

He scowls into his coffee; he’s ashamed to say his heart flutters a bit.

-

A week passes before he goes to the coffee shop again. Not because he’s afraid of Smirky McBrightEyes, but because he’s scared the guy might’ve thought he was a freaking loser. Which, to be fair, would be a correct impression.

He pushes against the door – careful to not run into it this time – praying that Smirky McBrightEyes isn’t there, because Stiles _cannot_ deal with anything right now, because he overslept and missed his first lecture and he just really needs some goddamn coffee.

Smirky McBrightEyes is there, eyes widening in recognition when Stiles enters the coffee shop, because the universe hates him. He runs a hand through his unruly hair, trying to push it into better shape, before he realizes it’s pretty much hopeless. No point in stalling, or preening, anyways.

“What will it be today?” the guy asks him and Stiles hides a quick yawn behind his hand.

“Just coffee,” he mumbles. “Black like my soul.”

“Name?”

He narrows his eyes, racking his brain for another pseudonym, because the guy got it right last time and Stiles isn’t about to lose their little game.

“Deadpool.”

The guy smirks – again, what the hell – and Stiles blinks. Swallows. Remembers why his dick seems to be so fond of the guy's face and prays for it to go away, because he’s really not in the mood right now.

Later, when he’s at least half a mile away from the coffee shop and therefore out of Smirky McBrightEyes’ line of sight, he glances at the side of his cup. He doesn’t admit it to himself, but the _‘Wade Winston Wilson_ ’ on the paper cup makes him smile.

-

Going to the coffee shop quickly becomes a habit after that. He tells himself it’s because the coffee’s better than the commercialist shit that Starbucks sells, but that wouldn’t explain why Stiles’ heart drops whenever Smirky McBrightEyes isn’t there.

They keep doing their thing. Smirky McBrightEyes doesn’t even ask him for a name, just looks expectantly at Stiles for a new challenge. He makes them more obscure or just harder every time, but Smirky McBrightEyes never seems to miss a beat.

“Clark Kent.”  
_Superman._

“Thorin.”  
_Son of Thrain, son of Thror._

“Robin.”  
_Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne._

“Captain Tightpants.”  
_Malcolm Reynolds._

It reaches a point where Stiles wakes up with a smile on his face, ready to face the day and give Smirky McBrightEyes another pseudonym. Then one day, a Thursday, it all falls apart. He’s late again, fiddling with his phone because the line’s long, but he _has_ to see Smirky McBrightEyes today.

It’s only when he’s standing in front of the register, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, that he realizes he hasn’t thought of a name yet. He freezes, desperately trying to think of a name, but snaps out of it when the girl standing behind him coughs ‘subtly’. Smirky McBrightEyes’ eyebrows are raised, pen ready and shit, shit, _shit_ , Stiles doesn’t have a name.

“Uh,” he says. “Stiles Stilinski?”

The guy’s eyes widen for a second, before that annoying – and really freaking attractive, goddammit – smirk is back, and he writes something on Stiles’ cup that’s decidedly not his name. Stiles wipes his sweaty palms on his khakis, heart pounding in his chest. He’s not sure if he fucked up or not.

The wait for the coffee is long, torturous, even though it probably only lasts two minutes. He tries to busy himself with his phone, but he doesn’t have any games on it and Scott isn’t responding to his texts, so he’s left to his own devices, twisting his phone around in his fingers.

“Stiles!” Smirky McBrightEyes suddenly yells and Stiles shoots up, scrambling over to the counter, cheeks flushed. “Your coffee.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, not looking at Derek – he fucked up so bad, oh my god, someone _shoot him_.

Still, he checks the back of the cup for a message – out of habit, he tells himself, not because he’s desperate – and he freezes when he reads the familiar hand writing.

_Derek Hale – Text me: 917-679-1120_

He shoots a disbelieving look over his shoulder, to check if he’s not seeing things, if Smirky McBrightEyes – or Derek, he corrects himself – isn’t fucking with him. Derek’s already looking at him, still grinning, and he makes a ‘call me’ sign with his fingers when he realizes Stiles is looking at him.

Stiles swallows and nods, heart pounding when he recognizes it for what it is: Derek wants to go on a date with him. Stiles’ heart does that little flutter again, but this time, he smiles down into his coffee.

It’s the best damn coffee he’s ever tasted.


	16. Update!

Uh, so because this was getting kinda chaotic for me, I decided to make this into a series. Therefore, this "chaptered" thingy is discontinued and if you want updates you can all go follow the "series" this is part of. Thanks for being considerate ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment if you feel like it please! Thanks so much for reading <3
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


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